


Something There

by arwens_light



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Changing Feelings, Character Development, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-10 20:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10446996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arwens_light/pseuds/arwens_light
Summary: It unnerved her a bit, to be honest, the change she felt. Upon their initial meeting, she had hated him. Hated him for what he had done to her father. Hated him for what he was doing to her now. She hated his hideous, twisted face and vicious fangs and terrible monstrous form. She had spent the first night sobbing in the dungeon tower, her woolen cloak wrapped tightly around her as if it would protect her from the terrible misfortune that had fallen upon her.But now...Now, something was different somehow.





	1. Un Petit Fil

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimer... I don't know anything, it all belongs to Disney.
> 
> So Beauty and the Beast is my favorite animated Disney movie. I was very skeptical about this live-action remake... and was I pleasantly surprised at how amazing it was. I've been observing about it ever since I saw the movie last week and just had to write something down. So this is what came out. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Much love!

It was the look of relief in his eyes for the briefest of moments before he had collapsed in the snow had shaken her to her core. The fact that he had appeared at all to rescue her, after the horrible things they had screamed at each other, was unfounded.

 

The saddle had been cold under her fingers as she clutched the leather, frozen in her indecision. Her mind and body were screaming at her to _flee!_ To escape and run back to her father, back to the comfort of her home, back to their little village...

 

And yet, one small thread of her heart tugged in the opposite direction, bidding her to aid him. He had, after all, saved her from being ripped apart by wolves.

 

As the pull became stronger and took hold firmly in her heart, she had closed her eyes and sighed, turning to walk across the icy ground toward him.

 

His immense figure shuttered with each breath, his breath steaming from between his fanged lips. When she tentatively placed a gentle hand on his back, his eyes snapped opened. Those blue, haunting eyes.

 

They had stared at one another for a heartbeat, unspoken words hanging in the freezing air.

 

Finally, when she did speak, her lips trembled. "I need your help," she whispered, "I need you to stand up."

 

Somehow, he had risen and with her support, had been able to climb upon the frightened horse.

 

Now she sat beside him on his enormous bed, unafraid, gazing down at him freely. He was asleep so she felt more comfortable staring at him so freely, curiously.

 

In the light of day, his features weren't nearly so frightening or terrible. Asleep, his brow had smoothed out of its usual scowl and his lips did not snarl.

 

Before she realized it, her fingers were reaching toward his face, to caress his mane. She stopped herself just in time, clutching her hand back to her chest. She had no idea what had possessed her to want to feel if his hair - or fur, really - was soft and silky or coarse and rough.

 

She sat on her hands to fight the urge to pet him, knowing that he probably would _not_ appreciate the gesture.  

 

Belle could leave, she probably should have, but something was keeping her tied to his sick bed. _Empathy? A sense of duty to her rescuer?_ Mrs. Potts had told her about the passing of his mother. If nothing else, they had that in common, both having lost their mothers at a relatively young age and been raised by their fathers - although she couldn't imagine how different his upbringing had been. He, a rich, spoiled prince with a cruel father. She, a poor peasant girl whose father made trinkets and had taught her to be kind and know her own mind.Knowing now that she needed a distraction, she pulled a small, leather bound volume from her apron pocket and proceeded to read, losing herself in the book she had borrowed from Pierre Robert to escape her current predicament.

 

She jumped as Mrs. Potts entered the room some time later, the door opening on its own accord as the animated teapot rode atop the unmanned service cart.

 

She must have fallen asleep while reading, the book still lovingly cradled in her hands. The sheets shifted as the Beast rolled away, giving his back to them. _Oh, so he was awake then._  


 

Ms. Potts tutted softly. "Master, I've brought you some wonderful hot chamomile tea and biscuits."

 

She received a snort in response. Pursuing her porcelain lips, she glanced at Belle. "How about for you, dearie? Would you care for a spot of tea?"

 

Belle straightened, rubbing her stiff shoulder. "Yes, please, that would be lovely," she said, smiling at the teapot.

 

Mrs. Potts beamed and tipped her spout toward a tea cup. "Cream and sugar, dear? One lump or two?" The sugar bowl and cream pitcher hopped forward in response.

 

"Just a bit of cream, if you please," Belle responded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "We didn't have sugar at home often, so I learned to take my tea without anything sweet."

 

 "Oh, but everyone needs something sweet one in a while!" Mrs. Potts declared. "How about a nice biscuit?"

 

Belle glanced at the overwhelming heap of cookies and cakes and sugar flowers. "I'm afraid I'm still full from the luncheon you brought earlier," she confessed. Her mind flitted back to the tray stacked full of sandwiches piled upon an array of cheese and fruit.

 

Mrs. Potts tsked in disapproval again, but let her be. "Just ring if you need anything, dearie," Mrs. Potts chirped as the service cart rolled out of the room.

 

Belle sipped her tea as she eyed the massive creature next to her. His back was to her, but she could tell he was still awake from the tension in his shoulders that had not been there while he slept.

 

She carefully set the teacup on the elegant bedside table before kneeling beside him. "Are you in pain?" she asked, gently reaching out to touch his shoulder.

 

Her fingertips had hardly grazed his nightshirt when his responding growl vibrated through the air. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she quickly withdrew her offending hand. But her fear was quickly replaced by anger. What had she does to earn such spite? _Entered the forbidden West Wing and into his private chambers_ , a small voice in her head prompted, but she quickly brushed it aside. That was hardly cause to be cruel to her now, when she was trying to help him.

 

"You may look like a beast, but you don't have to act like one," she declared, courage swelling in her chest.

 

He shifted so suddenly, she almost tumbled off the bed. His face dipped precariously close to hers, his teeth bared in a snarl as he loomed above her.

 

Her face felt aflame as she straightened her shoulders, trying to draw herself up a tall as she could. She bit her lip and looked straight back into those icy blue eyes.

 

They stared at one another openly for a long while, no shame or fear to hide behind this time.

 

"I'm only trying to help," she finally managed through clinched teeth.

 

He twitched slightly and after a long moment, he seemed to withdraw slightly. She held her ground, continuing to stare at him until he shifted to kneel in the middle of the bed. Belle slid off the bed and walked with determination toward the large stone fireplace opposite the Beast's bed. She carefully filled a basin with hot water from a kettle and carried it back to his bedside.

 

He watched her from the center of his bed, eyes weary. She tried to ignore his stare as she dipped a soft cloth into the hot water and rung it out. Belle climbed back onto the mattress and suddenly felt her never fail.

 

She looked up at him uncertainly. "I need to check your wounds and change your bandages."

 

He offered her a small nod in response.

 

Belle swallowed her fear and then raised a hesitant hand. "May I... ?"

 

His lips twitched as if to snarl, but he nodded again and extended his arm toward her.

 

She inched toward him before taking his forearm gently between her hands. She carefully unwrapped the spoiled bandage, trying to ignore the feeling of his claws brushing against her shoulder.

 

The wolf bite on his arm looked vicious, but was fairly swallow. She poured some hot water over the wound and felt his arm tense as he growled.

 

"Shh," she breathed in what she hoped was a smoothing and not shaking voice, trying to calm the hammering of her heart. She kept her focus and concentration on her task at hand, refusing to meet his glare.

 

She gently dabbed at the wound before applying a salve that Lumiere had left with her the night before. Finally satisfied, she wrapped his forearm with a strip of clean, white linen.

 

There were also bite marks on his legs, which she attended to in a similar manner. Finally, she addressed the worst of the wounds. The wolf's teeth and claws had sunk deep into the soft tissue of his upper back, tearing into his fur and muscle.

 

His roar of pain when Belle flushed out the wound brought tears to her eyes and she had to fight to keep her hands from trembling. He shuttered when she applied the salve and she could tell by the tension in his spine that he was in pain.

 

When she had finished applying the medicine, she took a long linen cloth and began to cover the wound. She twisted awkwardly as she attempted to wrap the bandage around his shoulder and over his broad chest without pressing her cheek against his fur. He hissed when she steadied herself on his shoulder, but allowed her to lean on him as she pinned the extensive wrapping in place.

 

He was warm, she realized, his fur soft and thick. She suddenly worried that he had developed a fever.

 

She picked up a clean cloth and hurried to his balcony. Once outside, she filled the rag with snow and returning to his side, placed it upon his brow. She could have sworn he sighed in relief before he drifted back to sleep.

 

She returned to his room over the next several days as he recovered. At first, she sat silently beside him, reading while he slept. On the fifth day, when he was awake, he asked what she was reading. She had found a book of poetry by Jean de La Fontaine in her room and informed him so. After a short, uncertain pause, Belle glanced at the Beast and asked, "Would you like me to read aloud to you?"

 

He rolled over to give her his back, but murmured, "If you wish."

 

Hesitantly, Belle began, reading a poem entitled _The Amorous Courtesan_.

 

_Dan Cupid, though the god of soft amour,_  
In ev'ry age works miracles a store;  
Can Catos change to male coquets at ease;  
And fools make oracles whene'er he please;  
Turn wolves to sheep, and ev'ry thing so well,  
That naught remains the former shape to tell:  
Remember, Hercules, with wond'rous pow'r,  
And Polyphemus, who would men devour:  
The one upon a rock himself would fling,  
And to the winds his am'rous ditties sing;  
To cut his beard a nymph could him inspire;  
And, in the water, he'd his face admire.  
His club the other to a spindle changed,  
To please the belle with whom he often ranged...

 

His heavy breath and the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders alerted her that he had fallen asleep, so she resumed her silent reading.

 

The next day, she finished the book of poetry. Not knowing what else to do, she tried to remember the acts and verses from all of the Shakespeare plays she had read from Pierre Robert's small personal collection. A Midsummer Night's Dream came to mind, so she began to recite a bit of Helena's dialogue, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers as she tried to recall the words from memory.

 

_How happy some o'er other some can be!_

_Through Athens I am thought as fair as she._

_But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so._

_He will not know what all but he do know._

_And as he errs, doting on Hermia’s eyes,_

_So I, admiring of his qualities._

_Things base and vile, holding no quantity,_

_Love can transpose to form and dignity._

_Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind_

_And therefore -_

 

"...And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind." The rumble of his voice startled her as he finished her sentence.

 

"You know Shakespeare?" she asked eagerly, leaning toward him. No one in her village had read the British playwright's work, save for Pierre Robert and her father, and she had so longed to discuss it with someone new.

 

But his responding scoff was not what she had hoped for. "I had an expensive education."

 

She pressed, still hoping to spark a conversation. "Actually, Romero and Juliet is my favorite play."

 

The Beast audibly groaned, rolling his eyes as he sunk back onto his pillow. "Why is _that_ not a surprise?" he commented with obvious distain.

 

Belle frowned, taken aback. "I'm sorry?!" she replied, not understanding what his problem was.

 

He shifted uncomfortably against the sheets. "Ugh, you know, all that heartache and pining..." he made a retching noise to emphasize exactly how he felt about that. Belle stared at him, mouth agape in disbelief. "There are so many better things to read," he added, glancing at her.

 

"Like what?" she demanded.

 

So he showed her.


	2. Nouveaux Mondes Inconnus

_"There are so many better things to read," he added, glancing at her._

_"Like what?" she demanded._

_So he showed her._

It took him a while to get out of bed, having been on bed rest for almost a week. She noticed that he limped slightly, although his attempt to hide it was admirable. She didn't say anything as he stiffly slipped on an ornate dressing gown and followed him down the hallway. Even with his injured leg, she still had to walk swiftly to keep pace with him.

He took her to a wing of the castle she had never ventured to before. They passed endless galleries and corridors until they finally stopped before a large set of doors inlaid with gold filigree.

With a massive paw, he swung the door wide open and for a moment, she was temporarily blinded by the bright light inside. Squinting, Belle followed the Beast into the room.

She froze, eyes wide in awe. She had never seen so many books in all of her life. Every wall was lined with shelves full of leather-bound books. A spiral staircase lead to a second level with a balcony that encircled the entire length of the room. Two large windows filled the room with golden light and a large fireplace was set into the Western wall.

She was speechless, her hands raised to her lips. She couldn't believe it. This was the most beautiful room she had ever seen in all of her life.

The Beast stood before her, gazing down at her curiously. Belle turned in a small circle, taking in every inch of the grand space.

"Have you really read all of these?" She whispered, heart soaring at the thought of so many stories to discover.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Well, no," he stated, "some of them are in Greek."

She slowly turned toward him, brows pinched together in disbelief. "Did... did you just make a joke?" she asked, laughing. "Are you making jokes now?"

He seemed startled at first and then somewhat pleased with himself for making her laugh. He grumbled something under his breath that she couldn't make out, but she didn't care. She was in heaven.

"Do you like it?" she heard him ask her.

She didn't think she could smile any wider. She nodded emphatically.

"Then it's yours," he declared, his eyes upon her.

He was... giving her the library? Could he do that? But of course he could - this was his castle, after all. She felt her eyes welling up with tears and happily brushed them away.

A library. _Her_ library. All her own.

She spent hours in the room, exploring every nook and cranny. Her fingers traced the ornately craved bookshelves and skimmed over the leather spines of countless books. Her feet wandered the marble floors, noting the artistry of the images laid within the stone. The mantle of the fireplace rose well above her head and the fire that burned within washed her face in its warmth.

The Beast watched her from the first floor as she climbed the iron staircase to the second level. He gazed on in mild amusement as she laughed aloud and ran the length of the balcony, stopping only when a collection of books caught her eye.

"You have all of Shakespeare's plays!" she exclaimed, rushing to the shelf. Her fingers lovingly traced the binding.

She heard the Beast utter a terrible groan below her. She peeked her head over the railing, frowning down at him.

"The very reason I brought you here was to broaden your horizons," he grumbled, "not so that you could read more of that romantic garbage."

"Shakespeare is not garbage," she informed him hotly. "But..." she gazed longingly at the volumes before her eyes swept down the rows and rows of books. "But, there are so many new books to read..."

"Precisely," complained the Beast, paws grasped behind his back as he paced the marble floor below.

"Alright then, what would you recommend?" she asked, leaning against the metal railing.

The Beast blinked up at her, looking slightly surprised that she wanted his opinion. He pondered for a moment before offering, "Since you seem to like British authors, you might find John Milton interesting. Perhaps a bit to dark for you, but interesting nevertheless. _Paradise Lost_."

Belle turned back to the book shelves, scanning the names.

"To your left," the Beast instructed. "Next to the column on the North wall."

Belle following his guidance and quickly located the book. "Anything else?"

"You can't read more than one book at a time," he stated incredulously.

Belle blushed slightly. "Well, no, but I'm a fast reader. I don't want to try and find my way back here in the middle of the night if I've finish this book and long for another. I'll get hopelessly lose in this labyrinth."

His large head bent forwarded for a moment, his ears twitching. "Very well then," he said after a moment of reflection. "Might I suggest adding _Candide_ by Voltaire, _Gulliver's Travels_ by Jonathan Swift, _Robinson Crusoe_ by Daniel Defoe, and  _The Sorrows of Young Werther_ by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe."

When she left the library that day with her arms full of books and her heart soaring in the clouds, she actually felt happy. The fear and hatred that she had felt for the creature walking beside her had slowly been melting away, leaving something else in its place. Not affection, not even friendship, but something had softened. Now when she looked at him, she didn't see the hideous scowl or frightening curl of his fangs; she saw something else, hidden deep beneath the surface, but something that almost resembled kindness had sparked in his eyes.

_His eyes_. She could meet his gaze now, squarely, and without flinching. She thought perhaps his eyes were the strangest part of him, as odd as that might be. Although his body was monstrous, his face twisted and scowling, his eyes were strikingly human. And blue. His eyes were deep pools of brilliant blue. Icy when he was angry and brooding, soft and warm when he wasn't...

Right now, he looked complacent, docile even. He walked with her back to her bed chamber and watched as she lovingly arranged the books on her bedside table. She clutched _Paradise Lost_ to her chest and turned to face him.

"Shall I read to you?" she offered, suddenly unsure.

He dropped his eyes briefly to hers before shaking his head. "Thank you," he said gruffly, as if the word had to be forced from his lips, "but I think I'll leave you in peace for a while." He made for an exit, but paused in the doorway. "You... would- would you dine with me tonight?"

She blinked up at him. How different this invitation was from her first night in the castle. She nodded slowly. "Yes, thank you," she answered, book still clutched to her breast.

He made a grunting noise of approval and then disappeared into the hallway.

Belle stared after him, conflicting emotions dominating her thoughts. How peculiar the change in him had been. Or had it been a change in her? Her mind argued that she should still hate the creature what was holding her captive, keeping her from her father. And yet, somehow, she just couldn't muster the strength to outright hate him anymore.

 

She shook her head, dismissing the confusing thoughts that were running through her mind. Instead, she turned her attention to the book clutched in her hands and settled into a comfortable chair as she opened the first page and read:

 

_Of man’s first disobedience, and the fruit_

_Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste_

_Brought death into the world, and all our woe,_

_With loss of Eden, till one greater man_

_Restore us, and regain the blissful seat..._

Belle hardly noticed the fading of the light as the candles in her room lit themselves on their own accord. It was only when Mrs. Potts entered the room that she realized how late the hour was. She immediately jumped to her feet, a brief panic seizing her chest.

"Oh no," she cried, "am I late for dinner?"

Had she angered him? Was the hard-earned peace between them lost?

Mrs. Potts tutted in her usual fashion, her service cart bumping into the sleeping wardrobe. Madame De Garderobe woke with a start, a moth escaping from her wooden mouth.

"Madame," Mrs. Potts instructed, "if you would please dress Mademoiselle Belle for dinner."

Belle shook her head. "That's hardly necessary," she began, inching away from the wardrobe.

Mrs. Potts frowned at her while Madame De Garderobe began to expel ribbons from her drawers. "Do you not wish to dress for dinner?"

Belle glanced down at her simple blue frock. "I _am_ dressed," she stated, hugged the book to her chest. "He knows what I look like, there's no need for me to change."

Madame De Garderobe groaned in distress. "She does not understand!" she cried.

Mrs. Potts tried to soothe her before turning back to Belle. "It is customary to change for a dinner," she informed Belle.

"I think we may be beyond customs at this point," Belle said before turning on her heels and practically running out of the room. She would _not_ be forced back into a hoop skirt and stays.

She managed to find her way back to the large dining room where she had eaten her first night in the castle. The Beast was already present, his back turned to her as he faced the fire.

The door closed behind her, drawing his attention. "Good evening," she said politely, standing awkwardly at the other end of the room. She dipped into what she hoped was a passable curtsey, book still clutched in her hands.

He nodded to her and gestured for her to be seated. It was hard to tell from across the room, but she thought he looked pleased.

The chair moved for her to sit and gently tapped the back of her legs as if to instruct her to sit.

The Beast took his seat at the opposite end of the large wooden table. Belle noticed that the table had only been set for one. She frowned across the table at his empty place setting, confused.

"Are you not eating?" she asked, brows drawn together as she carefully placed the book to the side of her dining ware.

His shoulder hunched and she noticed that he avoided her eyes. "Watching me eat is not a pleasant sight," he finally said. "I would rather not spoil your supper."

She opened her mouth to protest, tell him that he was being silly, but suddenly the service door opened and carts full of foods appeared. She had spoken with Ms. Potts and Lumiere earlier that week and despite their protests, had asked them to prepare food that was a bit more modest and in a quantity that she didn't feel was so wasteful.

The Beast watched her with mild interest as Belle helped herself to a handful of simple dishes. She suddenly before very conscious of him watching her eat, so she opened _Paradise Lost_ and returned to reading as a distraction. She became so absorbed that she did not realize the dishes had been cleared and she had been sitting there, reading for a good long while as he stared at her across the table.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, finally realizing they were alone and dinner had been cleared away. She shut the book, her finger marking the spot she had left off.

His lips twitched in what must have been a smirk. "Who I am to disturb one so lost in a tale?" She blushed. He tilted his head, searching her features. "How are you enjoying Milton?"

She touched the cover of the book, tracing the gold letters of the title. "It's much - darker - than I would have expected."

A raised brow, thick with fur. "Is that so?" he questioned, voice rumbling. "Does it offend you? Milton is writing about the fall of man, after all."

Belle shook her head, biting her lip as she considered her response. "No, it is not offensive to me. I actually find it quite fascinating," she clarified. "I've just never read anything like this..."

He flashed his teeth at her in what she took as a triumphant grin. "Well then," he said, sounding almost arrogantly proud of himself. "I'll consider it a victory."

She frowned, her expression perplexed.

He continued to grin at her. "That you now know Shakespeare is not the only author in the world."

She rolled her eyes, but allowed a small smile to tug at her lips. "Yes, well, thank you for that," she commented. She rose from her chair, which moved out of the way as she stood. "Good night."

He grunted in turn. She felt his eyes upon her as she left the room to retire for the night and was glad that she was no longer afraid. Perhaps, one day, she could even call him a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That library though <3


	3. Cours Modifié

Ever since she had turned 16 and men had begun making advances toward her, she had known the world was not the innocent place she had once believed it to be. Gaston in particular had been persistent no matter now many times she rebuffed his advances. Belle felt as if she had grown up a lot in the last year and a half, even if she was still a bit naïve and uncertain about the world.

 

Things were steady and constant at the castle, if not a bit strange. There were still occasions when the Beast would snap at her in anger or frustration; from time to time, he would lose his temper and throw a fit, smashing things around the castle - none of which, thankfully, were actual castle staff.

But those fits came less frequently as the days carried on.

He became much more calm and even-tempered around her. Most of the time he was even, almost, kind.

 

The thread that tugged at her heart had become stronger, more resilient than she realized at first. One day, she found herself laughing at another one of his unintentional jokes and her heart swelled with ... something she couldn't quite put her finger on, something that she was too afraid to name...

It was something close to friendship, but her imprisonment still loomed over her head like a dark shadow and even though she could now move around the castle and outside grounds freely, she was not _**free**_. 

 

She walked in the snow-covered gardens and rode Philippe for exercise. It amazed her that roses were still able to bloom here, despite the frost and ice. She didn't understand how The Beast could have such beautiful grounds and gardens, but remained shut up inside his castle.

She read. Quite a lot. He recommended novels and she consumed the knowledge as quickly as she could.  

As their mutual rapport grew, she invited him to walk with her in the garden. They walked and talked, about literature mostly. They would discuss the books she was reading, debating topics and the author's hidden messages, sometimes becoming so passionate in their conversation that they would have to part, angry and heated over their disagreement. Occasionally they would speak of art or music or he would educate her on topics she had no prior knowledge or experience of. In those moments, she almost felt happy.

 

They dined together, every morning and evening. She'd even begun to dress for dinner, although not in anything quite as ostentatious as Madame De Garderobe may like. She was given a few new dresses, all of them beautiful, but quite plain in comparison to what the wardrobe had tried to dress her in the first night at the castle. Simple, functional, but stylish in an understated sort of way. Very... un- _French_ , she supposed, but she thought they were lovely. They were comfortable and functional, which worked for her and the Beast hadn't complained around her appearance, so she figured it didn't matter much.

 

Occasionally, they happened to touch. It started out innocent enough, fingers that accidentally brushed against his paw as they reached for the same book, or when she bumped into his broad back when he unexpectedly turned a corner. But as time went on, it became more intentional. He offered his arm one day as they descended the steep and icy staircase on their way down to the gardens and almost without thinking, for her mind was on her feet against the slippery stone, she slipped her arm through his. She didn't realize how tightly she was holding onto his forearm until her feet hit the powdery snow and he paused, gazing down at her. She withdrew her arm at once and immediately regretted the loss of his warmth.

 

His eyes fell slightly at her withdrawal and he folded his arms behind his back and walked away from her, into the twisting garden maze. She followed after him slowly, pondering what had just transpired.

 

For several days after, he kept his distance, giving her a wide berth and avoiding all physical contact.

 

And it puzzled her how much that bothered her.

 

Several days later, she had returned from riding Philippe around the parameter of the castle grounds when she spotted him wandering the garden near the stables. He had been waiting for her, she realized with a small smile.

 

He watched her dismount with great interest although she noticed he still kept his distance.

 

"You ride... like a man," he finally said, stumbling over the words.

 

She stared at him, not comprehending his meaning. "I suppose?" she frowned at him as she brushed some snow off Philippe's haunches.

 

He shook his head, mumbling to himself. "You ride well," he clarified, "but you've got the wrong saddle on the horse."

 

She threw him an incredulously look. What?

 

"We've side-saddles in the stable," he informed her, then suddenly seemed unsure. "At least... we did... before..."

 

"Side-saddles?" she questioned, continuing to brush Philippe.

 

"You know... ladies- women- ride side-saddle, not with their legs a...a..."

 

If she hadn't known any better, she would have thought he was embarrassed. "They rode side-saddle... side-facing? How did they stay atop the horse?" she asked, bewildered.

 

He blinked at her. "I-I don't know."

 

"I can't imagine you could ride a horse very quickly sitting side-saddle," she mused, scratching Philippe behind the ears. The large horse snorted and prodded her for a treat with his nose.

 

"No, I don't suppose you could," she heard him murmur behind her.

 

She glanced at him, watching him curiously. He was still standing quite far from her, at least  half a dozen meters. A thought entered her mind and suddenly she understood. Yes, he was still maintaining his distance from her, but he didn't want to scare the horse.

 

She stroked Philippe's nose and he blew out a breath of air, warming her face.

 

She turned to the Beast, one hand still stroking the horse as she extended the other to her companion.

 

He stared at her hand for several long seconds before slowly raising his eyes to her face, doubt flooding his features.

 

She beckoned to him. "Come here," she said softly, her voice low and even.

 

The Beast hesitated, unsure. She remained fixed, steady, her hand still extended toward him. It was a gesture of trust, of acceptance. Surely, he could see that.

 

Finally, he approached her, crossing several meters of snowy ground in less than a handful of steps. When he was within arms' reach, she reached out and he allowed her to pull him closer, until he was standing beside her.

 

Philippe's ears twitched, but he showed no sign of bolting. She feed him a sugar cube she had snuck into her pocket, which he crunched happily.

 

She guided the Beast's paw until it rested against Philippe's side. The horse shifted slightly at the contact, but did not flee in fear.

 

The Beast stared in wonder at his paw against the animal and then turned his awe-filled eyes toward her.

 

She smiled up at him and basked in the warmth of his happy gaze. She stepped aside, watching as he turned back to the horse, slowly, carefully running his paws over Philippe's back and sides.

 

He murmured to the horse in a gentle, low voice.

She walked away, allowing him privacy in that moment. She climbed the stairs that led to a garden terrace and watched, leaning against the snowy stone arch. The cold beneath her fingers suddenly reminded her of playing in the snow as a child and a wicked thought entered her mind. Smiling deviously, she scooped up snow from the railing.

 

She giggled childishly at the look of surprise on his face when the snowball hit his shoulder.

 

She had _not_ expected him to launch a canon-ball sized snowball back at her. It hit her squarely in the face, the force knocking her off her feet. She landed in the snow with an undignified  _umph_. 

 

It had surprised her more than hurt her. She laid against the snow, blinking up at the clear blue sky. She glanced to her left and saw him standing at the bottom of the staircase, his expression quickly fading from amusement to concern.

 

He was startled when she began to laugh. She laughed until tears came to her eyes, laughed until her sides ached. He continued to stare up at her from the bottom of the staircase, his smirk widening into a grin. She quickly scrambled to her feet, scooping up a handful of snow as she ran. He gave chase, as she thought her would; she was delighted to hear his roaring laugher as he followed her around the garden, throwing hastily packed handfuls of snow at the other.

 

When they returned to the castle, her cloak and dress were damp with melted snow and she was shivering violently. His fur was wet and matted and she suppressed the urge to laugh when he shook the excess snow from his ears. The Beast escorted her back to her room and called for Mrs. Potts to draw her a hot bath.

 

A large copper tub was delivered to her room that - thankfully - was not an animated member of the castle staff. Water was heated over her fireplace and poured into the tub until it reached an acceptable level. A room divider was set in place so that Belle would have some amount of privacy while she bathed.

 

The bath was heavenly. The pins and needles pricking her fingers soon melted away as the hot waters warmed her body. She could hear Mrs. Potts and Madame De Garderobe having a conversation on the other side of the divider, arguing over whether Belle would allow them to dress her in jewel-encrusted velvet and furs for the evening. She most certainly would _not_. She tried to drown them out, but when she couldn't, she held her breath and sank into her watery oasis.

 

The hum of their voices was smoothing below the surface of the water. She briefly wondered how long she could hold her breath underwater before she realized that it wasn't very long at all. For a few, brief moments, she could close her eyes and imagine that she was back home, bathing after an afternoon toil in the garden. Thirty seconds later, she emerged from the water, a little more breathless than she would have admitted. Her heart ached. She wasn't _home_. She was still at the castle. A wonderful, mysterious, strange castle, to be sure, but not where she belonged. As the waters cool, she reluctantly withdrew from the tub and changed into a warm, woolen dress for dinner.

 

She asked for soup at dinner, something warm and hearty.  A large pot of bubbling tomato and pumpkin bisque is set before them, with a variety of crusty breads to choose between.

 

They were each served a bowl full of thick, rich bisque and then Belle pulled out the book she was currently reading. He had recommended that she tackle the Classics of Greek Literature - _The Odyssey_ & _The Iliad_ by Homer, _Antigone_ & _Oedipus Rex_ by Sophocles, and  _The Oresteia_ by Aeschylus, copies of which he has in the original Greek, and as well as translations in French, English, and German. She had been steadily working her way through _The Odyssey._

 

_So then,_  
royal son of Laertes, Odysseus, man of exploits,  
still eager to leave at once and hurry back  
to your own home, your beloved native land?  
Good luck to you, even so. Farewell!  
But if you only knew, down deep, what pains  
are fated to fill your cup before you reach that shore,  
you’d stay right here, preside in our house with me  
and be immortal. Much as you long to see your wife,  
the one you pine for all your days ...

 

She glanced across the table and smiled as the Beast gingerly lifted the bowl of soup to his lips, sipping at the hot liquid. The first time they had truly dined together had been a far less pleasant experience, one which left her horrified and him embarrassed and angry.

 

He caught her looking at him and set his bowl down. He tilted his head to the side and glanced at the book in her hands. "How are you liking Homer?" he asked, straightening in his chair.

 

"Very well, thank you," she replied. She ate a few more spoonfuls of soup and then returned to the pages before her. She stopped and glanced at the Beast. "When you read _The Odyssey_ , did you find Calypso as ... alluring as Odysseus does?" she asked tentatively. They usually discussed the book she was reading over dinner, but the topic usually wasn't so... mature.

 

His ears twitched as he considered. "Well..." he began, before he paused. "Would you - might I join you? At your end of the table?"

 

She smiled and nodded. "Yes, please," she encouraged. It was always a bit awkward talking to each other from opposite ends of the grand table.

 

The Beast stood, carefully collected his bowl and walked the length of the table to sit beside her. Once he was settled, he leaned back in his chair, considering her question again. She smiled at that - she could almost imagine him human in that moment, his blue eyes studious and thoughtful. "When I first read it as a child, I didn't really understand what she was offering to him. When I was older, I suppose I thought him stupid; who would turn away a beautiful woman, especially when she offered him immortality. I - before - you see..." she could see he struggled for words. He sighed in frustration, unable to put into words what he meant.

 

She had closed the book, turning her full attention to him. His blue eye evaded hers, focusing on his paws which gripped at the table. "What does all of that matter now?" She thought she heard him mutter.

 

The tug on her heart string had become an insistent pull. Belle slid her hand to his paw, squeezing his fingers in what she hoped was a comforting fashion. She knew the ache of loss, of losing a parent, although she couldn't even recall her mother's face. She knew the empty, hollow feeling of loneliness... and he must have been so lonely, here in this deserted castle, even in a ballroom full of beautiful people.

 

It unnerved her a bit, to be honest, the change she felt within herself. Upon their initial meeting, she had hated him. Hated him for what he had done to her father. Hated him for the freedom he had stolen from her. She had hated his hideous, twisted face and vicious fangs and terrible monstrous form.

But now...

Now, something was different somehow...

He had altered the course of her life and she felt that she might never be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know that the events in the Disney movies happen over the course of just a few days, but the original story has Beauty/Belle spending quite a long time in the castle. I think extending the amount of time she spent with him makes her feelings more realistic, but that's just me. I hope you enjoy because I've really enjoyed writing this piece. I'm considering ending the story here, since we all know where this is heading, but would love your thoughts. Thank you so much for reading and your kind comments - they are truly appreciated!


	4. Son enfance de Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beast POV for a change :)

He had wanted to give her a gift, so he showed her the book. The enchanted book the witch had given him, filled with a magic that would take you anywhere in the world that your heart desired. It had only ever served to humiliate and isolate him, causing him to further retreat from the outside world. But to experience it with her, through her, perhaps he could open himself up to that again.

 

He was shocked to find that she had taken them to Paris. He had expected the village, her father's small house on the edge of town, but not Paris. He had been to Paris many times in his past to attend balls and galas, each one more ostentation than the last. Men and women, faces painted and practically dipped in jewels and furs. Lumiere used to help him get ready for those nights, applying cosmetics and beauty marks, wigs and satin ribbons pinned perfectly in place. All to impress people whose names and faces he couldn't even recall now if he had tried.

 

But he had never been to this side of Paris before. They stood in a very small room, which seemed to have been abandoned long ago. Dust covered every surface and cobwebs clung to the rafters. A dirty pane of glass overlooked the _Seine_ river. He could see the lights of the city twinkling across the river and could just make out the shape of the _Notre-Dame Cathedral_ against the darkening sky.

 

He turned toward Belle to tell her a story about one of his many experiences in Paris, but stopped short. She was standing beside a cradle, her fingers softly tracing the dusty frame. Even in the dim light, he could see the tears in her eyes.

 

He watched as she slowly bent down and picked up a small trinket from inside the cradle. She clutched it to her breast and released a shaky breath. He could just make out what appeared to be a red rose bud between her fingers.

 

_What was this place?_

 

"I-" she cleared her throat and then spoke again. "I was born here," she told him, in all but a whisper. "My father, my ..." her eyes wandered to the small bed beside the cradle, the sheets moth-eaten and dirty.

 

He glanced around, seeing the place with new appreciation. Yes, it was small, but cozy. The window held a spectacular view of the city. The furniture was sparse, but an easel sat in one corner with a jar of dry and frayed paint brushes.  

 

Something sitting on a table caught his eye. So different from the masquerade disguises, this mask was designed for more practical purposes. He carefully picked it up with his claws, examining the leather.

 

"A doctor's mask," he informed Belle, holding the medical item up for her to see. The only time he had seen such a thing is when the plague had spread through Paris. They had left the city immediately, fleeing to the castle for safety. "The plague," he reasoned and then it clicked. She had only ever spoken of her father, but never of her mother. He glanced to the rumbled bed and found new meaning in it.

 

_His own mother had taken ill with fever after a hard labor. The babe had been stillborn and his mother had died shortly after. He remembered sitting next to his mother at her bedside, holding her hand as she faded from this world._

_He had cried, pleaded, begged as she slipped away from him. He remembered the gut-wrenching pain when the light in his mother's eyes disappeared; the hollowness in her lifeless body had haunted him as a boy for many nights._

_He had sobbed, heart broken, until his father had found him hiding from the rest of the castle. For an instant, his childish heart had hoped to find comfort in the stoic regal figure, but his father had been in pain himself from the passing of his wife and so the boy found no comfort in his only living parent._

 

He watched as Belle cried silently, tears tracking lines down her cheeks. He desperately wanted to offer her comfort, to hold her close and help her bear the pain. But he was still unsure, so he refrained.

 

Finally, she turned back to him, the silver trinket tight in her grasp. "Please" she whispered, "Let's go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet, but I'm almost done with the next chapter and hope to post it soon. Hope you enjoy!


	5. L'amour est le Bonheur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love and support - I loved writing this chapter and hope you enjoy it!!

He had taken her to _Paris_ of all places, back to the crumbling structure that had once been her home. Back to the place where her parents had fallen in love and she had been born. She clutched the silver rattle in her hand, the metal tarnished and rushing, but still beautiful. It was a part of her childhood - a part of her mother - which she had never had before. She wasn't sure if he understood just now much that had meant to her...

 

He had noticed her distracted, melancholy mood and tried to lift her spirits by telling her some truly terrible jokes. She didn't have the heart to laugh, too caught up in her thoughts. He was funnier when he wasn't trying to be. As they walked the length of the castle, they passed a grand ballroom. Belle lingered and then with a gentle prompt from her companion, she ventured inside.

 

The grandeur of it was almost overwhelming. White marble columns wrapped in vines of gold surrounded the room, rising to touch a vaulted ceiling which was painted like the sky.

 

Belle wandered to the center of the room and turned slowly, taking in the immense beauty of it all.

 

She felt eyes on her and turned to face the Beast, blushing slightly. He stood near the doorway, leaning on a pillar, his lion-esque tail lazily swishing behind him. His brilliant blue eyes watched her intently.

 

She suddenly felt very awkward and foolish. She looked down at her worn-in boots and brushed at her skirts, which now felt incredibly poor and peasant-ish.

 

"You must have had many great balls in this room," she said as she fidgeted with her apron, picking at a loose thread.

 

"Hmm," she heard him rumble in agreement. "Yes, I suppose so."

 

She twirled slowly on her toes, imagining the lovely lords and ladies who must have attended the parties hosted at the castle. She wondered if he had ever thrown a masquerade ball, like the one in _Romeo and Juliet_.

 

"Do you miss it?" she asked, her eyes focused on her feet as she tried to remember the dance steps her father had caught her as a little girl.

 

His responding snort made her look up. "A lot of beautiful people who just wanted to rub elbows with royalty. Empty-headed, silly fools who thought of no one but themselves - myself especially. No, I don't really miss it."

 

She looked at him, unable to keep the sadness from her eyes. She knew he would not appreciate the pity, so she dropped her gaze back to her feet.

 

"But... I suppose it would have been alright, with the right partner."

 

She smiled up at him and dipped into a dramatic courtesy, knowing she probably looked quite silly herself. "I bet you were a fantastic dancer."

 

Belle laughed when he rolled his eyes. "Not fantastic by any means, but I did enjoy dancing."

 

 "My father taught me to dance," she told him, moving about the floor opposite an invisible partner. "But, well, I was very young and I haven't ever been to a proper dance before, so I don't actually know if I'm any good."

 

"We should have a ball then," he teased.

 

"Yes, please!"

 

His smirk quickly vanished, but she persisted.

 

"Please, can we?"

 

"But... it will only be you and I..."

 

"Yes! It's perfect!" _No one else to watch her make a fool of herself_. "Please?"

 

He stared at her for several long seconds, eyes searching her face. Finally he nodded. "Alright then," he relented, "if you wish."

 

She ran up the steps and happily pressed her hand to the forearm crossed against his chest. "Thank you," she said. "I'll ask Madame if she has anything for me to wear."

 

The wardrobe could not have been happier when Belle asked her for a dress. "Finally!" she wailed, wooden drawers fluttering. "A dress worthy of my talents!"

 

Belle stopped the wardrobe from making a dress that required a hoop skirt and after a good half hour of arguing, Belle was victorious in getting a dress she was comfortable wearing, although it would still require her to wear stays.

 

Belle watched in amazement as fabrics of silk and satin flew into the air and began stitching themselves other. The dress that assembled itself in front of her was the color of daffodils and buttercups in the springtime.

 

Mrs. Potts brought up tea service with Plumette trailing behind her.

 

"This is just marvelous!" Mrs. Potts was spouting as she poured tea into a cup for Belle. "We haven't had a proper ball in ages."

 

Plumette fluttered about the room, twirling gracefully as her white peacock tail feathers streamed behind her. "Oh! What I would give for a night of dancing with _Lumiere_! What I would give to have _legs_ again!"

 

"Now, now," Mrs. Potts scolded, "none of that now. Let us focus on the present and how gorgeous that dress with look on you, dear! Very nicely done, Madame!"

 

"Some of my best work!" The wardrobe declared, "If not a little plain and simple."

 

"Ah, yes, but it is elegant, no?" Plumette said, settling onto the vanity. 

 

"Yes, it is very lovely, thank you, Madame," Belle said with heart-felt thanks.

 

The wardrobe seemed quite pleased with the praise. "Yes, well, let's get you dressed."

 

After another argument with Madame over whether Belle should wear a wig (she most certainly would _not_ ), powder her face (again, absolutely _not_ ) or be dipped in jewels (why take away from the dress?), Belle finally was able to dress with only a minimal amount of adornments. She was ready.

 

_++_

 

_His heart soared when he saw her. Not because she looked beautiful, which she did, but because of her smile. Her smile, sweet and genuine and meant for HIM. He, a beast, a damned man with no hope of redemption. He felt something bloom and grow deep within his chest; before, he wouldn't have recognized the feeling or known how to put it into words. But now, all he could think was: **I love her**._

_++_

 

He looked a gentleman, princely even, in his gold embroidered blue coat. His mane was even brushed and plated down his back. He also appeared to be extremely unsure of how to proceed.

 

She smiled warmly at him, hoping to ease his uncertainty.

 

This time when she curtsied to him, it was not in jest. She dipped as low as she dared on her heels, bowing her head reverently. She glanced up at him from her curtsy, hoping that she was doing it right.

 

The intense look in his eyes - she couldn't quite place her finger on it. Then he smiled gently down at her and nodded.

 

She rose slowly and then extended her hands to him.

 

Just a moment of hesitation before he slid his immense paws into her hands. And then there was nothing else, but Belle and her Beast and the soft music as they turned and moved together in the center of the empty ballroom.

 

The Beast was much taller than Belle. She guessed that he must stand at almost 7 foot tall, if not even taller. She felt dwarfed in his arms, but never once did she feel afraid. He was so gentle, paws barely applying any pressure at her hands.

 

She led him at first; although she was more inexperience, he seemed more unsure. Eventually, the Beast found his footing and began to move in step with Belle until he finally took control, spinning and twirling her into a state of bliss. She would have laughed out loud at the joy of it all, but his large arms suddenly encircled her waist and pulled her into the air. She floated through the air, supported by his strong arm, her hip pressed firmly against his side. She gazed at him, momentarily lifted to his eye-level.

 

It was almost too much, the intensity of his stare, how his blue eyes bore into her very soul. She wanted to look away, but somehow couldn't tear herself away from his gaze. There was something there...

 

She felt her feet return to the floor and the Beast spun her. He guided her through the steps with his ever graceful, gentle touch.

 

They had become friends, companions even, since she had come to the castle. She spun again, her satin skirts swirling against her hips, skin against fur as her palm turned under his fingers.

 

They were friends, they had become close. She trusted him. He cared for her.

 

And then he pulled her close and his massive paw cupped her head ever so tenderly as he dipped her.

 

Whoever he had been in the past to deserve the curse that had been placed upon him, surely he was a changed being. How could not he be, looking at her that way, with so much compassion and longing and ...

 

Her heart hammered in her chest at the thought. Despite all of Gaston's insistence and proclamations of love, he had never look at her the way that the Beast was looking at her now.

 

It terrified her, to have someone look at her that way.

 

It all became a blur and all else melted away to just the two of them, spinning together in a golden marble room. His crystal blue eyes upon her making her flush in ways she didn't believe were quite appropriate.

 

After they had danced away the majority of the evening, the Beast led Belle outside onto the balcony for fresh air. She breathed in the crisp, cold air, her hands resting against the smooth stone. She could feel his eyes upon her, could almost feel his adoration radiating off him. For reasons she realized too well, she could not bring herself to meet his gaze.

 

**"** Belle?" he finally asked, his voice a deep rumble at her side. "Are you happy here with me?"

 

She wanted to say yes. Almost desperately so. But she could not, would not, lie to him. So she held her breath and uttered the words she knew were true in her heart, but would hut him.

 

“Can anybody be happy if they aren’t free?”


	6. Liberté et Monstres

“Can anybody be happy if they aren’t free?”

 

She thought she had been prepared for the hurt she was sure to inflict on him, but the look of pain in his eyes was almost crushing. He shifted his gaze away from her, staring out into the darkness that had settled over the lake. His expression was dark now, much different from the awe and light and warmth that had been there just days before while gazing at the same view as she had read poetry to him.

 

William Sharp's words surely rang true tonight:

_The air is blue and keen and cold,  
  
With snow the roads and fields are white_

But from there, the similarities ended. There was no redeeming light to soften this unpleasant conversation. She began to shiver against the cold.

"Come," he finally beckoned, turning toward her. "I have something to show you."

 

He led her back inside the castle and she followed after him. Belle wanted to reach out and take his arm, to feel his warmth against her side, but suddenly felt unsure. He must have felt wounded by her words and therefore, likely, angry as well. Yet his reaction to her now was so unlike how he had been that first night, many months ago, when she had rejected his dinner invitation.

 

She remembered the fear that crept into her chest as he had roared and pounded upon her door. Back then, he had been nothing more than a terrifying monster who had ripped her away from her father and everything she held dear. How things had changed since that night. _How they both had changed..._

 

She realized after several minutes that he was leading her to the West Wing, to his private chambers.

 

The West Wing was much more damaged than the rest of the castle; the walls were in disrepair, the roof was crumbling, and the corridors were poorly lit. The Beast pushed open the claw scarred door and held it open for her to pass within.

 

She hesitantly stepped into the large room and instantly shivered. The glass doors leading to the balcony had been ripped apart many years ago, so there was nothing to stop the snow and cold from drifting into the room. Belle wrapped her arms across her chest, attempting to keep herself warm. The Beast walked passed her, toward his precious, enchanted rose.

 

The rose was encased with a crystal cover to shield it from the outside world, but it still seemed to beckon to Belle. She was shocked to see that it had shed more petals and only two remained.

 

She recalled Mrs. Potts and Lumiere speaking of the rose and how, if the spell was not broken before the last petal fell, that her companion would remain a beast for all time and the castle staff would cease to be. Become antiques, was how Cogsworth had put it. She had asked how the spell might be broken, but was met only with solemn stares. She never had gotten an answer to that question.

 

_What would break the spell?_ She wondered.

 

The Beast paused before the rose and placed a protective paw against the glass before reaching for something else beside it.

 

When he returned to her side, he presented her with an ornate silver looking glass. Belle stared at her reflection in the mirror before turning to him, confused.

 

He cleared his throat, a ruff grumble, before speaking "This mirror will show you anything - _anyone_ \- you wish to see."

  
A shaky breath escaped between Belle's lips. She glanced up at the Beast, but his eyes remained focused on the mirror in her hands. She gathered herself and then spoke to the enchanted object: "I'd like to see my father, please," she whispered.

 

A bright light spun and swirled below the surface of the glass until the picture cleared and she could see her father. Her heart leapt with joy for an instant - it was so good to see his face after so long - until she realized he was in distress.

 

She frowned, clutching the mirror as she tried to make out what was happening before her eyes. Maurice appeared to be struggling against many hands that grabbed at him, pulling and pushing. She recognized one of the men from the village and then another. Maurice tried to fight against them, but was overwhelmed.

 

"No, Papa..."

 

She glanced up at the Beast, who stood a little apart from her. He raised his eyes from the looking glass, meeting her stare. He seemed conflicted, his gaze reflecting a myriad of emotions that flashed too quickly for her to read.

 

"They're _hurting_ him." _What could she possibly do?_

 

The Beast tore his gaze from hers and turned away from her completely. When he finally spoke, his voice was so low, she couldn't possibly have heard him correctly.

 

She froze, shock paralyzing her for a moment. "What... what did you say?"

 

He turned back to her, eyes upon her as if it was for the last time. "You must go to him," he said, resolutely. "No time to waste."

 

_He ... he was letting her go?_ The elation of her freedom being returned to her was only hampered by the pang she felt in her chest at the thought of leaving him.

 

She stepped toward him to return his silver looking glass, but he softly shook his head.

 

"Keep it with you," he rumbled, "so you will have a way to look back on me."

 

She opened her mouth to refute his statement - he made it sound as if they would never see each other again. Her father needed her in this moment, but she would come back, she told herself. Everything would be _fine_. He would see... but instead, she simply replied with a _thank you_.

 

She stepped away, making for the door. She had to go to her father's aid, she had to help him. Still, the tears came, unbidden. They clouded her vision, made the world swim around her. She choked back a sob that had risen unexpectedly in her throat. Belle glanced back at the Beast, suddenly worried this _would_ be the last time she saw him. 

 

His eyes drifted back to hers and for a moment, they stood at opposite ends of the room, staring at each other. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, but she did not trust her voice to hold steady. So instead, she turned on her heels and raced back to her room.

 

She almost tripped on her gown, catching herself against her bedroom door. Indignantly, she kicked off the golden heels on her feet and hastily pulled on her worn leather boots. Belle wiped away the tears that were blurring her vision, trying to focus on her task at hand. She tucked the magic mirror away for safe keeping. She had no time to change out of the ball gown and for that, she was very sorry, for she was sure it would be ruined on the hard ride to the village.

 

She ran down the grand staircase and through the front doors, ignoring the cries from the castle staff. She didn't have time to answer their questions. Her father as in trouble and needed her.

 

There was no time to saddle Philippe properly, so she pulled herself up directly onto the horse's back, digging her heels into his side. She had rarely ridden bareback before, so when Philippe galloped from the stables, she clung to his mane a little too tightly at first. The horse shook his head, displeased at her grip, so she forced herself to loosen her hold and trust him not to let her fall.

 

The bitter cold wind whipped at her face and arms, chilling her to the bone as they rode from the castle. She should have grabbed her warm woolen cloak, she scolded herself.

 

As Philippe thundered down the icy path, a wolf howled in the distance. It was a long, mournful sound, which chilled Belle to the core more than the wind.

 

A low hanging branch cracked against her side, ripping her skirt. Her ribs stung for a moment, but she pressed forward. "Hurry, Philippe," she pleaded, fingers buried in his mane. She had no idea what the mob intended to do to her father, but whatever it was couldn't be good. Maurice and Belle had always been seen as odd, never quite fitting in with the other villagers. Outsiders, living on the outskirts of town, disrupting the normalcy of the otherwise quiet community.

 

Philippe continued to run, steadily climbing until suddenly the snow stopped falling and warm autumn air hit Belle, sweeping away the chill. She gasped at the sudden change in temperature. She whipped her head to the side, glancing behind her at the path which lead back to the Beast and his castle. That would be her way back once she had rescued her father...

 

The faithful horse carried on, swiftly marching up and down the rolling hills until he galloped into sight of the town. Even from a distance, she could hear the commotion rising from the town square. She dug her heels into Philippe's sides, spurring him forward.

 

A crowd of townsfolk were gathered in the town center around a covered wagon. Cries of surprise rose up as Belle came thundering into the square on Philippe, people scattering away from the horse.

 

Belle could see Gaston lounging near the central fountain, his friend LeFou beside him. He smirked when he saw her, calling out in greeting. 

 

She scowled down at the vain man. "Where is he? Where is my father?" she demanded as she dismounted.

 

"Belle," Gaston said, "He was telling everyone that a beast had taken you captive. Clearly, he's going insane."

 

"He's not!" she protested.

 

A ripple of laughter rang through the crowd. Gaston looked down at her in false sympathy. "Oh Belle-"

 

"I can prove it!" She pulled out the enhanced mirror and held it up. "Show me the Beast," she commanded. This time, she did not flinch away from the bright lights that spun beneath the glass, staring intently until her Beast's image swirled into view. She held up the looking glass to Gaston, to prove her father's sanity as well as her own.

 

Gaston recoiled, his face distorted in horror and disgust. LeFou cringed. Those behind him with a view of the mirror gasped in fright.

 

Gaston wrestled the silver glass from her hands, showing the other townsfolk her Beast.

 

"Look at this hideous creature! Living just beyond our village borders!" he yelled, stirring up the crowd. Cries of dismay and anger resounded.

 

_No, no, this was all wrong. She had meant to save her father, not cause a riot._

 

"What a monster!"

 

"We're not safe with this beast living in our woods!"

 

"He'll come here in the night and steal away our children!"

 

"No, you don't understand!" Belle pleaded, but no one paid her any heed.

 

"It's time to take some action, boys!" Gaston bellowed, lighting a torch. "We cannot let this monster wander free!"

 

"Fetch lanterns and touches!" someone ordered.

 

"This nightmare is lurking in the shadows, do you see his fangs and claws? We'll storm his castle and stop this madness - and kill this beast!" Gaston roared, a frightening excitement in his voice.

 

"No! You can't!" she cries, attempting to grab the mirror, tearing at Gaston's arm.

 

He turned toward her, eyes flashing dark in anger. "You've fallen under the monster's spell," he bit out, "you can't be trusted not to warn him." He grabbed her wrist and began to drag her toward the wagon. She tried to fight him off, digging her nailed into Gaston's hand, but his grip was iron-clad. He opened the barred door and threw her inside. She landed heavily on her hands and knees, pain shooting through her palms.

 

"Belle," she heard her father's soft voice above her. She glanced up at him, tears in her eyes.

 

"When we return to the village," Gaston informed her, eyes raking down her body, "you _will_ marry me."

 

" _Never_!" She rejected, fresh tears springing to her eyes.

 

Gaston sneered at her and Belle felt her skin crawl. "If I didn't know better," he said, turning toward the mob, "I'd say she even cared for him!" He slammed the wagon door shut and with a click of a lock, they were trapped within.

 

Belle pounded her fists against the wooden door. "He's not a monster, Gaston! _You are_!"

 

"Follow me!" Gaston roared as the crowd yelled in agreement. "Let's kill the beast!"

 

Belle cried and pleaded, but the men and women of their little village did not listen. Gaston mounted a horse and led the mob out of town, into the forest. When the last man had disappeared from sight, she crumpled to the floor, sobbing.

 

_No, no, this was all wrong. This is her fault. The Beast was going to die and it was all her fault._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot stop writing! Thank you all for your comments - they keep me motivated! I hope you enjoyed!


	7. Ugly Creatures Such as Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beast POV

 

Before, he had been a prince who was concerned with no one except himself. He had been spoiled and unkind - cruel even - and had misused his subjects; he could see that now.

 

He had used others for his amusement. He had laughed and ridiculed those in need. _What an ugly creature he was._

 

For years after the transformation, he had been bitter and angry, lashing out at the castle staff that had been taken by the curse. Throwing fits like a spoiled child, smashing and tearing at the furniture and walls.

 

He truly deserved the monstrous form he had assumed under the witch's enchantment.

 

Belle stumbling into his life had been completely unexpected. She had taken her father's place as his prisoner without a second thought about herself. That selfless gesture of familial love had completely blindsided him.

 

She had been frightened of him at first, but had stood her ground even as she trembled in his presence. She had utterly exposed him, left him feeling raw under her brilliant, pure light. He had not been entirely sure how to deal with her.

 

He had been absolutely furious when he found out Lumiere had released her from the tower and given her a room in the East Wing. He wasn't fit to be around others, let alone a young woman. But Lumiere had pursued him to make an effort with the girl - after all, if he didn't ever try, there would be no way to break the spell and they would be forever doomed to their current state of existence.

 

Of course, it had been disastrous and the night had only gotten worse from there. He had bellowed at her in frustration and anger and she had yelled back, defiant to the end. He had retreated back to his private chambers in the West Wing, only to find her intruding upon his solitude in the middle of the night. She had dared to touch his rose, the object that held their fate in its fragile petals. He had truly unleashed his demons within, roared in an unholy fury that had sent the poor girl running from the castle.

 

In the heat of the moment he had cursed her, spewing foul profanities as he smashed already broken furniture and ripped at his clothes in a fit of rage.

 

When he finally calmed down, breathing heavily as he leaned protectively over the enchanted rose, he heard the howls.

 

Guilt suddenly seized him. It was his fault that she had run away and into the dangerous forest that surrounded his castle. He battled within himself, arguing that she was the one who had entered into his private chambers, violated his trust. But the small voice within his heart persisted and eventually won.

 

It wasn't hard to find her - all he had to do was follow the chilling howls of the wolves.

 

She had foolishly dismounted from her horse, but was courageously attempting to keep the wild animals at bay with a branch.

 

As a wolf lunged at her, he leapt forward, intercepting the attack. His fur and hardened hide helped lessen the impact, but the wolf's teeth still tore into his flesh. He released a roar of pain and then turned, snarling toward the pack. Half a dozen wolves crouched, ready to strike.

 

From the corner of his eye, he caught movement and turned, only to feel sharp teeth sink into his exposed calf. He managed to kick off the creature, but he was outnumbered and the wolves struck at him whenever he turned his back.

 

Finally, with a furious growl, he twisted, catching one of the wolfs with his claws and ripped it off his back, hurling it away.

 

The wolf hit the ground, hard. It whimpered as it tried to stand. The other wolves seemed to shrink away in response. He stalked forward, menace in his eyes as he roared protectively.

 

When the wolves had finally disappeared into the darkness of the forest with their tails between their legs, he slowly stood, the injuries he had sustained making him uneasy on his feet.

 

His eyes rolled, trying to find the girl... She stood beside her horse, eyes wide and staring. _Good. She was safe._ And then his world had faded to black. 

 

He had drifted in and out of consciousness for the next several days. Waking meant dealing with the pain in his body while sleeping only gave way to nightmares. Most of the time, the dreams were ones he had had for many years, but the slowly evolved, changing into images of a pretty girl with hazel eyes being ripped to shreds by gnashing teeth while he stood by, unable to move, unable to aid. Or sometimes he realized that it was he whose teeth were tearing into her sweet, tender flesh, mauling and scarring her until there was nothing left.

 

When he could finally bear the physical pain enough to stay away for more than a few minutes at a time, he was shocked to see her sitting at his bedside. _Hadn't she been in the midst of running away?_ He gazed at her beneath his long eyelashes, trying to figure her out. He was a monster, a beast, who had separated her from her father and imprisoned her. He had locked her up, threatened to starve her and spit curses at her. And yet, here she was, sitting beside him, reading a book of poetry. What a peculiar girl.

 

A silent truce was established between them over those next few days as she continued to care for him. He discovered that she had absolutely horrid taste in literature, so he provided her with the opportunity to expand her knowledge through access to better reading material. She asked for his recommendations, so he provided guidance and suggestions. She still tended to lean too heavily in favor of that atrocious British playwright, but everyone had their faults, he supposed.

 

He grew to appreciate and even yearn for the delight in her eyes as she read, her mind soaking in the words.

 

Before he realized it, she had cemented herself on his heart. And there was absolutely nothing he would do to change that, no matter how terrifying it was to all in love.

 

Of his own feelings, he was quite certain. This strange, brilliant young woman was like no one he had ever met before. She was stubborn and strong-willed, but kind and compassionate.

  
They disagreed and argued a lot - mostly about their very different taste and interpretation of literature. But he relished their lively debates, especially the fire it lit in her lovely brown eyes, and even more so the comfortable conversations they fell into as a result. Even though there were many things he couldn't bring himself to tell her, he had opened up to her more than he had to anyone since his mother had died so many years before.

The only thing he regretted was that she had come into his life at this late hour. But if this was all he had, just a few short weeks, months to enjoy her company, it was far more than he deserved.

That was why he stood on the balcony terrace, watching her ride away from his castle. She didn't love him, but because he loved her, he had let her go. He could no longer be selfish, he had to do what was right and grant her the freedom she so desperately craved.

 

For a while, he could make out her yellow gown atop Philippe, cutting through the darkness just like she had into his heart. Even after she had faded from view, he remained fixed.

 

He knew it was over when he released her; his time was almost spent and if she didn't love him now, there wasn't much he could do to change that.

 

He was acutely aware of his horns, the weight making his massive head feel much heavier than usual. He glanced back at his enchanted rose and saw that another petal had fallen; only a single, solitary petal remained.

He closed his eyes and sighed. She danced against his vision, a whirl of brunette hair and pink skin laced in butter-yellow and gold. She had been so light, felt so fragile in his arms while they danced that he feared he would hurt her. She had touched him freely, of her own accord, and when she looked at him tonight, her eyes held no fear or resentment. When he dipped her, one large clawed paw wrapped around her waist as the other gently cradled her head, he felt a pang of longing and wished that he had been human so that he might kiss her.

  
But he was still a beastly creature and she a young, fair _mademoiselle_. His eyes slowly opened and he glanced down at his monstrous claws that clutched the stone railing. _What future could he possibly give to her?_ But still he would wait, ever a hopeful fool.

 

_"But it takes two to make love, or to make a quarrel. She was not an insensate piece of property to be taken up or laid down at his convenience. You could not give up a human heart as you could give up drinking. The drink was yours, and you could give it up: but your lover's soul was not you own: it was not at your disposal; you had a duty towards it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heart eyes on this chapter guys, omg, I had such as amazing time writing this piece. I hope you like it!!!


	8. Amour Perdu

_No, no, this was all wrong. This was her fault. The Beast was going to die and it was all her fault._ _  
_

 

Her father's comforting hand laid upon her shoulder, attempting to calm her. "My dear child," he murmured.

 

"Papa," she sobbed.

 

"It's okay," he soothed, "You're alright."

 

"No, this is all _my_ fault. Gaston - he is going to hunt him down and _kill_ him..."

 

Maurice knelt beside her, his face etched with confusion. "You really do care for... him?"

 

She looked up at her father, tears rolling down her cheeks. She nodded. "He's changed, Papa." _So much, in so many ways. Her Beast was so dear to her now. How could she make him understand?_ "I have to save him."

 

"It's dangerous." Maurice, like any good father, had always tried to protect his daughter, steer her away from harm. Just as he did now.

 

"Yes," she admitted. "Yes, it is." _All the more reason why she had to do this._

 

Her father gently wiped the tears from her eyes. "Well then," he said, standing, "let's see if we can't get ourselves out of this box!"

 

He glanced around for Monsieur D'Arque. No one remained in the square. Maurice slipped his arms through the bars and felt for the lock. "Now, if only I had -" Belle, anticipating his need as always, pulled a pin from her hair and presented it to her father. "- something straight and sharp..." Maurice smiled at his daughter and nodded in appreciation, taking the pin delicately in his hand.

 

Belle stood by as her father worked at the locking mechanism with diligent fingers. After several long moments, there was a definite _click_ and Maurice was able to slid the iron lock from the door. They slipped out, Maurice keeping an eye out for Monsieur D'Arque while Belle untied Philippe from a hitching post.

 

She attempted to mount Philippe, only to find her movement stopped short. She turned to find her once gorgeous ball gown, now wind-whipped and mud-spattered, had caught on a split in the wooden post. She tugged at the fabric in vain, cursing the wasted time. Finally, she took the buttercup yellow skirt between her hands and ripped with all her strength. The dress finally tore free until it hung in tatters around her knees. Growing increasingly frustrated, she pulled the ribbon at the back of her waist, loosening the gown enough to shuck it off.

 

Having full freedom on her limbs, she threw herself at Philippe and swinging one leg over the horse's broad back, dug her heels into his sides.

 

"Hurry, Philippe," she commanded, softly, but urgently.

 

The horse, trusty as always, threw back his head and then charged forward through the square. Belle briefly noticed her father, standing next to a stunned Monsieur D'Arque as they thundered past.

 

The ride through the forest took longer than Belle remembered. Every second that pasted seemed an eternity.

 

_I've failed him, this is all my fault,_ she thought bitterly. _He gave me back my freedom and how did I repay him? By sending an angry mob to his doorstep! I will never forgive myself if... if he..._

 

The thought was too much, so she swept it aside. She had to believe she would make it there in time, be able to reason with Gaston and the townsfolk before they hurt anyone.

 

The warm autumn night abruptly changed into the icy throws of winter. Belle shivered violently. She was close now, just a little further.

 

"Please, Philippe, faster..." She felt a lump rising in her throat, choking off her voice. Her fingers were tightly woven into the stallion's white mane.

 

As they drew insight of the castle's gate, she saw fires burning in the gardens. The sound of voices, raised in anger rang through the grounds. Philippe pounded through the open gate, making straight for the stables which had now become so familiar to him. Instead, she turned him toward the large marble staircase that lead to the castle's main, grand entrance. The doors were thrown wide open, so she rode straight through them.

 

Belle dismounted before Philippe had fully stopped, landing unsteadily on her feet before pitching forward onto the hard, cold marble. She caught herself on her hands, palms taking the force of the impact.

 

Scrambling to her feet, she looked around frantically and found she was staring up into the face of Gaston's closest friend - LeFou. Her hands curled into fists as she glared at him until she realized the soft young man looked haggard and disheveled and ... remorseful?

 

He took Philippe's lead in his hands, patting the horse to calm him. "Gaston's upstairs," he urgently informed her, pointing toward the West Wing. "You'd better hurry."

 

"I-" she honestly didn't know what to say in that moment. _Hadn't he just been marching from the village, intent on her beloved Beast's destruction?_ But she was wasting precious seconds, so she simply muttered a _thank you_ before she sprinted up the steps, passing a handful of animated castle staff engaged in a confrontation with several local farm hands.

 

She ran the maze of hallways and stairs, knowing precisely where she was going. Her heart hammered in her chest. _Please don't let me be to late, please..._ she begged to no one, any one.

 

When she reached his private chambers, she flung the door open and stepped inside, eyes searching for him. But the Beast was no where to be seen. She flew to the balcony and leaned over the edge, scanning the castle grounds below. A flash of movement above caught her eye.

 

The Beast was clinging to the turret of a tower. His claws scratched and torn, trying to find purchase, but he was slipping. Gaston's dark silhouette moved about him, stalking toward him as if he were prey ripe for the slaughter.  

 

"No!" Belle screamed, leaning further over the edge. She felt tears fill her eyes. There was no way to reach him, he was too far away.

 

Her voice drew his attention as he continued to slid from the turret. With herculean effort, the Beast dug his back claws into the stone and with a twist of his massive body, lunged toward another turret.

 

He was able to land almost cleanly and steadied himself before turning toward her. "Belle!" he yelled, his deep voice etched with joy and disbelief that made her heart ache echoing across the parapets. "You came back!"

 

She smiled, tears still in her eyes. She reached toward him, beckoning him, calling him.

 

"I tried to stop them!" she yelled, needing him to know that this was not part of her plan, that she had never mean to cause him this pain. She moved to swing a leg over the edge of the balcony.

 

The Beast raised a large paw to stop her. "Stay there!" he called through the darkness, "I'm coming to you!"

 

Belle felt a violent shutter beneath her feet as the castle groan and crumbled. She could see his large form maneuvering off the towers, coming closer to her.

 

She squinted, his form difficult to see in the dark. She thought she saw a dark mark on his left shoulder and realized he was moving his left arm awkwardly. Was he wounded?

 

The Beast made it to a stone walkway before he leapt to the balcony of his chambers.

 

Belle clutched the front of his shirt, pulling him to her. _Had it really been just a few short hours before that they were dancing, arm-in-arm through his ballroom?_

 

She smiled at him through her tears and took his hand in hers, urging him onto the balcony. He slowly began to lift himself over when she noticed movement on the walkway beyond.

 

_Gaston_. His name flew into her mind like a profanity. His eyes locked with hers from across the distance and something like hatred flared in his dark gaze.

 

Her fingers at the Beast's collar pulled more desperately. He pulled himself over the balcony and she could finally see the blood-soaked bullet wound in his left shoulder. He fell to his knees, stumbling on the icy ground.

 

She tugged on his right shoulder. "Come on," she cried, attempting to haul him to his feet. He slowly stood, allowing some of his weight to rest on her shoulder.

 

Suddenly, there was a terrible crack as a pistol fired and the Beast jerked in her arms as the bullet struck true. She gasped, trying to hold him upright, but he fell from her arms. He roared in pain, pitching forward and tumbling down the steps.

 

She flew to his side as he lay unmoving on the snowy ground. Her knees hit the icy stone as she knelt beside him and took his clawed hand in hers. His brilliant blue eyes rolled in his head, searching before they finally rested on her.

 

Belle tried to smile, but her vision was clouded with tears and she feared her expression was more grim than it should have been. She refused to focus on the crimson that had begun to stain the frozen ground beneath him.

 

His fingers flexed and then grasped at hers. "You came back," he murmured softly, his voice much lower and slow than normal. She brushed her free hand against his mane and cupped his large head. He felt heavy in her arms.

 

"Of course I came back," she managed to choke out. She tried to blink away her tears. "I'll never leave you again," she promised with all of her heart, willing him to believe her. _All of this, it was all her fault. Her fault the townsfolks had marched to his castle as an angry mob. Her fault that Gaston had hunted him. Her fault that her Beast now lay in her arms, his life bleeding out before her._

 

He gave a small shutter and released a shallow breath. "I'm afraid it's my turn to leave," he confided.

 

Belle shook her head. _No, no, it can't end like this. He can't -_ "We're together now," she said, words rushing out. "Everything's going to be fine."

 

He let out a huff that might have been a laugh. She couldn't fathom why his eyes regarded her so intently, like he was trying to memorize her face.

 

A large, soft finger caressed her cheek. "At least I got to see you one last time." She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. _She had told her father that he had changed, but the truth was, so had she. Her thoughts, her feelings toward him, so different than they had been that first dark, cold, fateful night._

 

But then his hand was falling from her. His eyes, half closed, looked unseeing to the sky.

 

"No," she whispered fervently. "No, come back!" But he slipped away from her and there was nothing she could do to save him. His chest shook beneath her one last time and then was still.

 

She sobbed, heartbroken. _No, no, no, please don't go, don't leave me, please..._ "I love you," she admitted to him, to herself.

 

She had realized her own feelings at the final hour, but she was too late. She had failed him. She had wasted his love and now he would never know she loved him in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in posting - I moved last weekend to a different state, so I wasn't able to write like I would have liked to. 
> 
> Please enjoy!!


	9. Le Trépas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet - Beast POV

He had almost believed that buffoon of a man - Gaston - when he told him that Belle had sent him. Sent to destroy him, to kill him. So be it, he had thought.

 

But then, Belle had appeared, a spark of light in the darkness as she always had been.

 

He had been elated, overjoyed, relieved.

 

His Belle, only, she wasn't really his. She was no longer his prisoner. She was her own person. A beautiful, kind, compassionate, intelligence young woman with terrible taste in British literature. Belle, who had taught him what it was to care for someone above himself. To respect, to honor, to love another.

 

In the end, she didn't love him back. But that was okay - he had accepted that it was possible for him to love another without returned affection. It would mean that the curse wasn't broken, but he could imagine worse fates. 

 

Here, at the end, he would die with his love for her in his heart.


	10. Grâce salvatrice

She sobbed, heartbroken. _No, no, no, please don't go, don't leave me, please..._ "I love you," she admitted to him, to herself.

She had realized her own feelings at the final hour, but she was too late. She had failed him. She had wasted his love and now he would never know she loved him in return.

Belle pressed her lips to his forehead, his fur soft against her skin. She pulled away with a sob, tears wetting her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she whispered, laying her head against his broad chest. It was strangely still, no steady rise and fall with his lungs or beat of his heart against her ear. She tucked her head into him, a sob shaking her shoulders. "I love you, please come back."

His chest gently lifted her head and for a single second, she thought he was drawing breath. But then she saw the a strange golden light swirl around him and she withdrew, confused and frightened.

The golden light enveloped the Beast and lifted him up. His lifeless body began to move and shift, turning slowly as the surrounding snow and rose petals were pulled into the mysterious movement of light.

Belle backed away. She didn't know what to do - didn't understand what was happening.

The light was almost too bright to see through, although she could just make out what appeared to be his paw and hind legs. The light popped and crackled, its movements becoming more frantic at it swirled around her Beast.

He seemed to shift, to change, almost shrink. The light waxed and waned until it slowly began to sink. It briefly rested on the ground before it dissolved in a shimmer of golden snow, littering rose petals across the floor.

Belle stared at the ground, the petals, and suddenly realized that she was staring at a pair of very _human_ feet. She stared at the man's back, her heart hammering in her chest.

His back was to her as he examined his hands as if he had not seen them in many years. His hair was golden brown, a surprisingly similar hue. His white shirt hung loosely on his slender frame and he turned slowly on legs which were much smaller in comparison to her companion's had been just mere moments before.

The man that turned to stare at her seemed just as confused and uncertain as she felt. His face was all high cheekbones and defined jawline marked with a brow furrowed in perplexity.

They stood, transfixed, frozen, staring at each other for several long moments. Belle found herself inching toward this strange man. He stood still, watching warily as she slowly approached him.

Despite her uncertainty, she was inexplicitly draw to him. As she stepped forward, Belle saw that his own apprehension had quickly evolved into fear, a deep-seeded trepidation that the world around him was not real - that perhaps  _she_ was not real.

She stopped before him, mere inches from him as she slowly extended her hand.

Belle's fingers brushed against his cheek. His skin was warm against her hand, smoother than she expected from lack of fur. She cupped his face between her hands, fingers lightly threading into his shoulder length hair. She should had been more restrained, but she drew her thumb across his cheek, searching his unfamiliar face.

When she looked up, she found his eyes staring down at her, brilliant and blue - so _blue_ \- and full of astonishment and admiration and love. Clear, piercing blue eyes that were so familiar. So familiar...

It really was the only logical conclusion, but had taken until this point for her to understand. To recognize him. Her Beast. Only, he was no longer a beast... he had been restored to his former self. But regardless of his form, he was still her love.

Her heart leapt in her chest and she gave a little gasp of joy. She had already waited far too long and it had almost cost her too dearly.

When he tentatively brushed his fingers against her temple and over her hair, she felt herself shiver in anticipation. He was much shorter now, standing less than a head taller than she rather than towering over her. Making it much easier to kiss him.

She pulled him to her and he came willingly, allowing her to dictate and move him.

When she pressed her lips against his, he responded, gently, slowly, with an underlying passion that simmered just beneath the surface. Oh, how she wanted to draw out that passion...

Her fingers trailed down his neck as his hand tenderly cupped her face. She was vaguely aware of his other hand which moved from her lower back to her shoulder, ghosting over her skin, hardly applying pressure.

She pressed against him, desperate for more, knowing that he was holding back. His lips helped guide her, sliding smoothly against hers until she finally had to pull away, breathless.

He dipped his forehead to rest against hers as she panted, trying to catch her breath.

"Belle," he whispered, his voice so different, but spoken in the same low timbre.

"It's you," she replied, "it's _you_." She found that she could not stop touching him, her fingers trailing over his face, attempting to memorize features that were new and unfamiliar.

"You came back," he murmured, disbelief still echoing in his voice. "You ... you love _me_."

She pulled back and gazed into his eyes, her own filling with tears. "Yes," she confessed. "I love you." She kissed his cheek. " _I love you_." She kissed his jaw. "Yes, I love _you_." She pressed her lips fervently against his, drinking in his adoration.

"My sweet, darling Belle," he said against her lips, "I love you." He began to trail his kisses across her features. "You are so beautiful, so smart, so kind, so intelligent. You have saved me. You have saved us all."

He sunk to his knees before her, her hands still clasped in his. "Most of my life, I was a foolish, vain, cruel man. I paid for my sins most dearly, suffered humiliation and anguish, but I cannot be completely sorry for it because it is how I met you... My light, _mon ange_."

Belle opened her mouth to speak his name and found that nothing came out - for he was no longer the Beast - and she suddenly realized that she did not know his given name.

"Belle, _mon amour_ , would you do me the great honor of marrying me?"

"I...I don't..." her stammer made his face fall slightly and her heart ached to think she was cause him any more pain. "I don't know your name," she finally said. She interlaced her fingers with his in reassurance and his lips twitched.

He paused, almost as if he had to remind himself of something which he had once known, but hadn't thought on in such a long time, that he had trouble recalling. "My name... my given Christian name... you can call me Adam."

Belle smiled warmly up at the man before her and twisted a lock of dark gold hair between her fingers. "Yes, Adam," she breathed, her smile stretching wide. "Yes, I will marry you, my love."

And when he kissed her this time, she thought her heart might soar away for all the joy that filled it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! I'll probably wrap up this fic in the next chapter, but may write a stand-alone smut piece or two just because :) 
> 
> I love the depth of emotion that the Prince has as he is staring at all after his transformation, waiting for her to recognize him - what an acting master piece! :) 
> 
> And I know that not everyone agrees that the Beast's name is Adam, but that's what is generally accepted, so that's what I'm going with. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy, loves!!  
> -xoxo


	11. Conte vieux comme le monde

She didn't know how long they stood, tightly embraced. He was much shorter and thinner than his beastly form, limbs long and thin. His cheek rested against the top of her head which was pressed firmly against his chest. She could hear the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. _He was alive. This was real. She was going to marry him._

His hands moved soothingly over her upper back as her fingers tightened against his waist and in the soft fabric of his shirt.

"Belle," he finally spoke, his voice a rumble that ran through her body.

She tipped her chin to gaze up at him.

He smiled down at her and brushed his lips against hers, ever so lightly.

Belle rocked up on her toes, attempting to deepen the kiss.

Adam laughed against her lips before he pulled her closer and kissed her properly.

Butterflies filled Belle's stomach as Adam threaded his fingers through her hair, his mouth gentle but urgent against her own. The kiss did not calm the hunger inside of her, but made it flare all the brighter.

When Adam gently pulled away, Belle was left short of breath.

He caressed her cheek with his thumb. "My Belle, my beauty, my love," he murmured, eyes taking in every detail of her face.

She never wanted him to stop touching her. But he did, his eyes flickering away from her to survey the room around them.

" _Oh mon dieu_..." he muttered, head turning. His hand remained on her arm. 

Belle slipped her hand into his, intertwining their fingers when a flash of gold caught her eye. And then she realized that they were no longer standing in the ruins of the West Wing. Instead, they stood in the solar of an ornately decorated room with walls of smooth cream-colored marble flecked with gold. Crystal-clear glass lined the solar leading out to the exterior balconey, where vines laidened with roses bloomed. As she caught her breath, the sweet smell of the roses filled her senses. The Enchanted Rose sat, suspended in air upon a small table, now reformed, at the height of bloom. 

There was a light tug on her hand, pulling her further inside. She saw the furniture that had been in shambles had been restored to shining, polished wood with precious metal inlaid in intricate design. Lush velvet curtains, no longer ripped and frayed, hung against large windows which overlooked the western gardens. Two portraits had been remade, one of a young child seated between two regal monarchs, the other a portrait of a man slightly younger than the one currently at her side. When she had seen them last, the portraits had been ripped to shreds.

"That means..." Adam's voice was tight, nervous, excited as he tugged at her hand. "The others, we have to find them."

Belle followed after him as he lead her through the castle, almost running to keep up with his quick pace. 

They descended the grand staircase, hand in hand. Belle laughed as Adam pulled her urgently after him, a happiness she wasn't sure she'd ever known before flooding her chest. When they finally reached the main entrance, Belle stared in wonder. The townsfolk were wandering about, talking and laughing and crying and hugging people she had never seen before, but somehow seemed so familiar.

A man dressed in a golden coat and powdered white wig approached them, followed by a beautiful woman in a feather skirt.

"Oh my Prince!" the mustachioed man exclaimed before dipping into an overly showy bow. His voice was so familiar that Belle immediately recognized him to be Lumiere - the candlestick who had freed her from her prison cell her first night in the castle, so many months ago.

She smiled as Adam stepped forward, arms extended to draw the man in.

"Hello old friend," he greeted, pulling his maître'd and valet into a warm embrace.

"Oh!" Lumiere exclaimed, looking quite surprised. He hesitated for only a moment before he smiled and returned the gesture. "It's so good to see you!"

"You saved our lives mademoiselle," the lovely caramel-skinned woman said to Belle, dipping into a graceful courtesy. Belle just smiled at Plumette, not sure what to say. All she had done was answer the call within her heart, nothing more.

Suddenly, she was surrounded by castle staff who had transformed back into their human forms, being hugged and kissed until she found herself in Mrs. Potts' arms, both of them crying happy tears.

"Oh my dear girl," Mrs. Potts said softly, wiping the tears from her eyes. "We are indebted to you."

Belle shook her head, tears still falling down her cheeks. "I did nothing."

"You opened your heart to a broken man. You helped give our lives back." Mrs. Potts kissed her forehead. "I wouldn't call that nothing."

Belle heard the Madame de Garderobe before she saw her and smiled warmly as the older woman approached her. "My lady," she cried, dipping into a deep courtesy. As she rose, she gave a small cry of shock. "Mademoiselle, are you aware that you are in a state of undress?" she whispered loudly to her as she eyed Belle's disheveled appearance and worn brown leather boots. 

Belle blinked at her and then gazed down as her garments, immediately blushing crimson as she realized that she was only wearing the stays, petticoat and underskirts which she had worn beneath her golden ball gown. 

The Madame's Italian husband, Maestro Cadenza, kindly draped a rose-colored cloak across her shoulders. Belle smiled at him gratefully and tried not to wince when he smiled back, several of his teeth cracked or missing. 

Belle watched her Prince as he greeted each castle staff member in turn. He seemed completely at ease, if not a bit excited, to be in front of so many people. She stood slightly behind him, clearly more apprehensive of the crowd than he was. Many of the townsfolk approached him, having had their memories of the monarch restored when the curse was broken. But the man who greeted them now was not the cruel, vain, selfish prince who had once ruled these lands, so they departed with looks of confusion and awe.

Pere Robert and several of the townsmen had retrieved Gaston's broken body and taken it back to town for a proper burial. LeFou brought Maurice to the castle that night, desperate to make amends for his involvement with leading the mob of angry villagers against the castle. The Prince had requested a private word with Maurice when he arrived and when they had returned, her father simply gave her a wink and a hug.

They wed less than a fortnight after the curse had been broken. The townsfolk were all invited to the castle to witness their union, which Belle imagined was probably one of the most modest affairs to be hosted within the castle. Madame de Garderobe had made her a beautiful dress embroidered with dozens of flowers - red and pink roses, peonies and lilies. Her prince dressed in a light blue coat with white lace, his hair simply curled and pulled back into a ponytail with a blue ribbon but the most beautiful thing about him was the way he was looking at her - the soft smile on his lips, the brilliant blue warmth in his eyes... the love and admiration he had for her. 

As they danced together in celebration after their vows, she found herself appraising her new husband's features again. His cheeks were smooth, his chin free of hair. She remembered dancing with the Beast, his form huge and looming. She had felt so small in comparison, remembered how he touched her as if she were some fragile thing, about to break in his arms. His arms were firm and steady against her now, gently leading her through the movements of the dance as they turned and circled round each other. He was still ridiculously gently with her, but did not seem quite as fearful of breaking her in his human form. 

He smiled at her, his brow furrowing as he tried to ready her expression. "What is it?" he asked. 

She shook her head then grinned mischievously at him. "How would you feel about growing a beard?" she teased. She imagined he would look quite handsome with a beard - in fact, she found that she quite liked the idea. 

His responding growl made her laugh out - it was not exactly like the type of noise he might have made in his beastly form, but it was close enough and it sent a delightful shiver down her spine. 

He spun her and pulled her close, her body pressed firmly to him as he dipped her. "I love you, Belle," he breathed, his lips brushing against her. 

Belle looped her arms around Adam's neck, her smile stretched wide. Her Prince straightened, pulling her feet off the ground as he balanced her against his hip, turning slowly. As he set her down, Belle kissed him fiercely, attempting to convey just how much she adored him with only her lips. She felt him grin against her lips. 

"My prince, my love," she whispered, "you are my adventure."

And in that moment, she felt like they might just live happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of struggled on wrapping up this story, but I do plan to write a stand alone which had a little more... mature content :) 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I have enjoyed exploring these characters who I have loved for a long time and sharing the experience with you.


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